A Christmas to Remember Anthology
Lisa Kleypas, Lorraine Heath, Megan Frampton, and Vivienne Lorret
About Lisa Kleypas
Lorraine Heath always dreamed of being a writer. After graduating from the University of Texas, she wrote training manuals, press releases, articles, and computer code, but something was always missing. When she read a romance novel, she not only became hooked on the genre, but quickly realized what her writing lacked: rebels, scoundrels, and rogues. She’s been writing about them ever since. Her work has been recognized with numerous industry awards, including RWA’s prestigious RITA. Her novels have appeared on the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists.
Megan Frampton writes historical romance under her own name and romantic women’s fiction under the name Megan Caldwell. She likes the color black, gin, dark-haired British men, and huge earrings, not in that order. She lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her husband and son. You can visit her website at http://www.meganframpton.com. She tweets as @meganf and is at Facebook.com/meganframptonbooks.
Excerpt from Lisa Kleypas’s “I Will”
IT WAS NOT easy to ask a favor of a woman who despised him. But Andrew, Lord Drake, had always been beyond shame, and today was no exception. He needed a favor from a morally upright woman, and Miss Caroline Hargreaves was the only decent female he knew. She was proper and straitlaced to a fault . . . and he wasn’t the only man to think so, judging by the fact that she was still unmarried at the age of twenty-six.
“Why are you here?” Caroline asked, her voice threaded with quiet hostility. She kept her gaze fastened on the large square frame propped by the settee, a wooden lace stretcher used to reshape curtains and tablecloths after they were washed. The task was a meticulous one, involving sticking a pin through each tiny loop of lace and affixing it to the edge of the frame until the cloth was drawn tight. Although Caroline’s face was expressionless, her inner tension was betrayed by the stiffness of her fingers as she fumbled with a paper of pins.
“I need something from you,” Andrew said, staring at her intently. It was probably the first time he had ever been completely sober around her, and now that he was free of his habitual alcoholic haze, he had noticed a few things about Miss Caroline Hargreaves that intrigued him.
She was far prettier than he had thought. Despite the little spectacles perched on her nose, and her frumpy manner of dressing, she possessed a subtle beauty that had escaped him before. Her figure was not at all spectacular—Caroline was small and slight, with practically no hips or breasts to speak of. Andrew preferred big, voluptuous women who were willing to engage in the vigorous bedroom romps he enjoyed. But Caroline had a lovely face, with velvety brown eyes and thick black lashes, surmounted by dark brows that arched with the precision of a hawk’s wing. Her hair was a neatly pinned mass of sable silk, and her complexion was as fine and clear as a child’s. And that mouth . . . why in God’s name had he never noticed her mouth before? Delicate, expressive, the upper lip small and bow shaped, the lower curved with generous fullness.
Right now those tempting lips were pulled tight with displeasure, and her brow was furrowed in a perplexed expression. “I can’t conceive of what you could possibly want from me, Lord Drake,” Caroline said crisply. “However, I can assure you that you won’t get it.”